There are some losses that feel strangely personal, even when you never knew the person. Dolly Parton is one of those for me.

My mom loved country music, and we listened to Dolly together all the time. She was funny, wildly gifted, unapologetically herself, said it like she saw it, and somehow managed to turn enormous success into an enormous capacity for helping other people. She made generosity look as natural as rhinestones.

And then there’s Jolene. One of my all-time favorite songs. Today it feels like more than a song. It feels like home. Like my mother. Like being a kid again, listening to music and not yet knowing how many memories a song can carry.

Dolly lived a long, extraordinary life, so this isn’t quite the grief of “too soon.” It’s the grief of thank you, and I’m really going to miss you.

Also, because apparently I cope with profound existential sadness through carbohydrates, I have Dolly Parton pancake mix in my pantry.

So tomorrow’s breakfast is officially Dolly pancakes, accompanied by a little singing, a little dancing, and probably a lot of feelings.

And yes, I will be playing Jolene.

Because apparently the appropriate response to losing Dolly Parton is pancakes, rhinestones, and singing your heart out.

Honestly? She’d probably approve.